Recurring Nightmare
by EpicInTheLibrary
Summary: Craig is conflicted. Stan is the brunt of the problem. Craig/Stan
1. Behind the Gym

_-I wasn't originally going to chapter this, but it started getting really long, so I figured I might as well. Seriously, this part is freaking ten pages long on Word Perfect (lol). So Craig and Stan. It's like my favorite pairing, in constant competition with Kenny and Craig. Even though they're both kind of crack lol. _

_Sorry the whole thing is cussing, I was feeling angsty when I started writing it, and now I have to be consistent, so. And besides, it's South Park. It fits. _

_Oh, and don't worry, I'm still working on my other stuff (Third Wheel and Electronic Confession); it's just that I've been grounded and EC is on the computer, so I haven't been able to type it. And the first chapter for Third Wheel is almost done, I just need to finish it, touch it up and type it. Ghghgh so here, enjoy this. I hope.-_

-

It was a cold night for being outside, but that didn't stop Craig Tucker. It was the night of the school dance, and he was only there to avoid his parents. He didn't care how much it cost, as long as he could stay the fuck away from his house. He was glad that the students were given the option of being outside or inside, because honestly, he couldn't stand another second in that disgusting, sweaty mass of high school students called having sex dancing. It was rather revolting to Craig, and he probably would have left anyway, allowed to or not.

He was currently sitting around the corner against the side of the gym, knees tucked up against his chest with his bare arms hugged in in a pitiful attempt to keep warm. Why the fuck he hadn't grabbed a jacket before he had left, he did not know, but now he really fucking wished he had. Oh well. It was better than home or the inside of the gym, so he wasn't complaining.

It was relatively quiet outside, besides the muffled music coming from the building behind him and the campus aids talking to each other. A few other groups of people had decided to break free from the nasty heap of bodies, but none of them were even close to Craig. They were all on the front side of the gym, mainly because that's all the supervising adults were allowing. Craig was never bound to follow the rules. And apparently he wasn't the only one.

Craig didn't know Stan Marsh very well, but he knew that he'd built a sort of rivalry wall or something between him and his friends in the fourth grade after having his birthday money stolen by them with promises to double it or some shit like that. They never did pay him back for that...

But anyway, because of that, Craig didn't know Stan, except for the basic facts that everyone knew about him: he was quarterback of the football team, well-liked, constantly went out with Wendy Testaburger on and off, had a thing for gay animals, had a thing for just gays in general, and threw up all the time. That was the basic picture of Stan Marsh as seen by most people, including Craig. Well, except Craig saw two more things in him in addition to all that: Stan was an asshole who still needed to pay him back, and he was hot as hell. Not that he cared, or anything, just... He had noticed. He still hated the fucking douche. Or at least he thought he did...

As he was sitting there, leaning back against the cool wall of the gym, shivering grudgingly as random swear words chattered out between his clattering teeth, a figure turned the corner of the building about ten feet away from him and approached him. It was dark due to the fact that no one was meant to be back there, so Craig couldn't tell who it was at first. But after a few seconds he recognized the strongly built profile and sighed through his nose, pulling his legs further into his body as if believing that doing so would magically make him invisible. He really was a fucking idiot sometimes.

Apparently Stan knew who he was too, because he approached Craig confidently with that sweltering gait of his he took up when he was trying to impress the general public. Fucking prick. Craig hoped he could feel the waves of hatred radiating off of him so he would have second thoughts and turn around and go back to that fucking orgy that passed as a highschool dance. Jesus Christ.

Evidently he did not feel the waves of hatred radiating off of Craig, as he walked right up to him and sat right down next to him. Like _right _next to him. Craig rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and scooted away. Hel_lo,_ personal space?

Frustrated at Stan's sudden invasion, Craig was just about to ask what the fuck was his problem when Stan suddenly spoke.

"Craig."

Oh wow. Really fucking great. Stan knew his name. He deserved a medal.

"Stan."

Oh look, Craig knew Stan's name too! This should really have been on the news. Craig wondered if now Stan had caught on to his apathy.

"What are you doing out back here?"

Really? _Really?_ What the fuck was this?

"Staying a virgin. How 'bout you?" Stan laughed at his response, and Craig wondered what would happen if he reached down Stan's throat and pulled out his vocal cords. What the fuck? Was he drunk or something? He hadn't meant to be funny. It was true. If he'd stayed in there he'd probably be shoved up against a wall with some freshman slut feeling him up right now.

"Stan, what the fuck are you doing back here?" Craig snapped a little harshly, but like he really fucking cared. Stan quieted down, but he wasn't put down. He was just fucking _Stan._ Craig had never known fucking Stan to be really put down by anything. Except animal abuse, or something gay like that. Really, how was someone who was such a flaming homosexual so fucking popular in today's society?

"Oh, I don't know," Stan said in answer to Craig's demand. "'M jus' bored."

_Ohhh._ So Stan was talking to Craig because he was _bored. _That made things a whole lot clearer. Because why would anyone actually _want_ to talk to boring old Craig?

"Well go piss boredom on someone else, asshole," Craig hissed dully. If Stan wasn't here for a real reason, then Craig didn't want to talk to him.

"Wh- No, I didn't mean _that_," Stan spluttered desperately. It was kind of pathetic. "I meant I just came back _here_ because I was bored. I didn't know you would be back here." Uh huh. And Craig was really an undercover platypus secret agent. _Really?_

"I hardly think you were coming back here _against the rules_ just because you were bored. You're a people person. You talk to people when you're bored."

"Everyone's dancing."

Oh, right. Sorry, Your Highness of Always Being Right.

"There's people outside."

"I'm tired. I wanted to get away from people a while and rest."

"You're talking to me."

Stan faltered, opening his mouth to reply and then closing it again. Good fucking job, Stanley. Were you about to say I don't count as a person?

Close call.

Finally Stan just sighed seemingly in defeat and kneaded his hands through his hair, which was invisible in the darkness. "I wanted to be alone while I rested so I snuck back here and when I saw you I thought you looked bored so I decided to cheer you up." It all came out a little too quickly, almost like one big word. Craig narrowed his eyes at Stan's silhouette.

"Oh, so now you're suddenly concerned about _my_ boredom?"

"Well you're not bored anymore, are you?"

"Who ever said I was bored in the first place, asshole?" Craig hissed, losing his patience. Or whatever he had that resembled patience. Stan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in between his fingers, a habit he had acquired early on and still hadn't dropped.

"Okay, you know what? _Fine._ I saw you come back here and was curious, so I found a way to ditch my friends and come after you, okay?"

Hmm. Well _that_ sounded a whole fucking lot more believable than the rest of his previous bullshit. But why did Stan fucking Marsh, extreme populaire, give a flying fuck where Craig was going and why? Craig wished he could see Stan's facial expression as he said this, so that he could gage how serious he was and maybe burrow a little deeper past the surface. But whatever. He could tell by the sound of his voice, anyway. It didn't sound like he was lying. But relying on what things _sounded _like wasn't exactly the most trustworthy way to go. The words were what were more important. He couldn't just have been _curious._ There had to have been something else...

"Look, if you're here to fuck me, then you're out of luck." Craig practically held his breath as he waited for Stan's reaction.

"Wh-What?!" he spluttered, flustered. Craig bit back his laugh. He sounded horrified, like he had been caught red-handed doing something wrong. Which, in a way, he had. He was suddenly in a considerably better mood, which kind of pissed him off, but whatever. The funny thing was that his mood lifting had been at another's expense. At _Stan's._ Ha.

"Dude. Chill." Craig smirked as he said this, practically able to _see_ the panic rising in Stan's chest. "I was only kidding."

"We're fucking _dudes_," Stan gasped, obviously trying to reorientate himself. Craig rolled his eyes.

"So? Like it makes a difference."

"It makes a hell of a difference!" Stan's voice was shrill and hurt Craig's ears with its rise in pitch and volume, and he got an impulse to clap his hands over his ears to block it out.

"Dude."

"I'm not gay!" he hissed, voice whistling squeakily in the middle of his claim. Oh please.

"Yes you are." Craig stated back bluntly. They both knew it was true. What the hell, Stan?

"No I'm not."

"Don't lie, Stan."

"I'm not lying!" Craig rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Seriously, you're getting annoying now."

"Shut up, Craig. I'm not a fucking fag."

Craig sniggered. "Way to insult yourself, you 'fucking fag.'" He saw Stan's outline seize up and tremble slightly in anger or intimidation or whatever.

"Stop it, asshole. I'm not _gay_."

"Yes you are. I can prove it." Craig's tone was bland, but he was feeling triumphant. Well, for about a second, until he realized what he'd just said. And maybe implied. What the hell? He was going to _prove_ Stan was gay? And how the fuck was he planning on doing that?

"As if. It's impossible to _prove_ whether someone's gay."

"Oh yeah?" Craig couldn't help the slight tremble that shook his voice. "I know how."

And on impulse, he really did come up with an idea. An idea that made him feel sick to his stomach, because if it were to work, it would also prove that _he_ were gay too, and he wasn't exactly sure if he wanted Stan to know that about him.

"Really, now?" Stan sounded slightly curious beneath the arrogance of thinking he was _so_ right. Craig would show him. "Please, enlighten me."

Whatever. He figured it was only fair.

"Oh, I will."

Moving very suddenly, Craig pushed up from the wall he was leaning against, his ass numb from sitting on the cold concrete for so long. He swung his leg over both of Stan's and sat so he was straddling his thighs. Stan made a startled noise at his sudden action as he slapped his palms against the cool cement on either side of his head, effectively trapping it.

"Craig, what the fu-"

Craig interrupted him by swiftly smashing his lips against Stan's, taking advantage of his already open mouth by slipping his tongue inside to probe at the moist unfamiliar space. Stan squirmed uncomfortably underneath Craig, unresponsive, making to escape, a strangled noise rising from his throat and spilling into Craig's mouth. Craig breathed out through his nose, trying to keep calm and in control of himself. It wasn't proving to be too hard due to Stan's lack of– _holy shit._ Suddenly Stan wasn't being so unresponsive anymore– in fact, he was being the exact opposite of unresponsive, giving in like Craig knew he would. But the feeling of being kissed by _Stan_ was _so_ much more incredibly amazing then he'd imagined. His heart sped up and he began to breathe heavily as he shifted closer to Stan, sliding his hands inward to brush his fingers against the soft strands of hair. As they came closer they became entangled, weaving tightly into the blackness. Stan's lips moved slowly against Craig's, as if he were unsure whether he was allowed to be returning Craig's actions. Craig smirked and pushed back, harder, smothering his lips over Stan's, pressing, searching for a reaction. His thumbs brushed against his ears, cheeks, and down to his neck, feeling the pulse picking up beneath his skin. Stan's hands slowly, tentatively trailed softly up Craig's body, starting at his thighs, moving up to his waist, then the sides of his torso, then his shoulders, then his neck, and then slowly back down. Craig shivered under his wandering fingers and pressed closer.

Suddenly Stan's breath hitched and he broke away, gasping and dropping his hands to the icy cement at his sides. His eyes found Craig's in the dark, wide with shock. Craig wished again that he could see Stan's face better, but he supposed he didn't really need to see what he already knew was there. He kept his smirk as he leaned in to brush his lips against the spot just above Stan's cheek bone right next to his eye. The skin was hot under his and his lips stretched further as he spoke.

"What's wrong?" he breathed, voice barely a whisper. "Afraid I'm gonna be right?"

"N-no," Stan responded unsteadily, breath jumping up in another broken inhalation as Craig's lips moved lower to mouth at his ear. "C-Craig, st-top it... This is f-fucking gay..."

"That's the point," Craig chuckled into Stan's ear, running his tongue along the curves and crevices of the hot skin. He dragged his teeth lightly against it, just to feel Stan shiver in reaction.

"S-stop... asshole... nn.." Craig snickered when the small sound escaped Stan and pulled back, trailing his lips down Stan's jaw line and coming _just_ next to his lips before moving down his chin towards his throat. He stopped there, sucking at the exposed flesh and listening to Stan's breathing harshen. His prisoner shied away from the sensation but at the same time began clenching and unclenching his fingers, and Craig could tell that he _wanted_ him to continue. He smirked. Stan was _horrible_ at concealing his feelings.

"Stan," he breathed against the burning skin wetted and pressed to his lips. "It's okay if you _want_ it... No one's here to see..."

Stan let out a shuddering breath, trembling slightly underneath Craig. Craig saw his hands twitch out of the corner of his eye.

"Y-You..."

"_I'm_ not going to judge you," Craig answered smoothly, darting his tongue out to swirl playfully against the skin of Stan's quivering throat. "I'm only out to prove a point."

Craig is a fucking liar.

Stan gave in, letting his hands jump up to Craig's body after restraining them so cruelly before. They ran swiftly up his thighs and slipped gracefully underneath his shirt, fingers tracing patterns that stole the breath from between Craig's lips before it could even reach the back of his throat. They moved ever upwards, exploring as far as they could go, exposing Craig's hips and stomach to the freezing air. He shivered at the sudden change in temperature, and to get back instead of being flustered at Stan's sudden forwardness, he dragged his tongue in a straight line up his throat to his chin and into his mouth.

Stan made a small noise of surprise that sounded suspiciously like a squeak as Craig invaded his mouth. His hands' movement faltered for a moment before continuing more heatedly as he got more into the kiss. This time his lips were moving more quickly and in pace with Craig's. He folded his tongue around Craig's in a way that was fucking _amazing_ and made Craig's growing hard-on speed its transformation. _Fuck._ If they didn't stop soon, he was gonna have to _do_ something about it. Obviously it wouldn't be long before Stan noticed. The question was, was _he_ going to do anything about it...

Stan's hands were moving up higher, stopping to play around with his fucking _nipples, _Jesus _Christ._ Craig let out a grudging groan, not wanting Stan to know how fucking good that felt but at the same time wanting to express the overwhelming pleasure he was experiencing. And the fact that it was _Stan_ made it feel ten times _better._

Fuck. _Yes._

He could now feel Stan's growing erection, as he was sure Stan could feel his, and unable to hold back any longer began grinding down into him, keeping _nothing_ to himself. Especially his _hands._ They ran all over Stan's body, never stopping in once place, as if searching for something.

Perhaps Craig had a small idea of what that "something" might be.

Stan gave a low aroused moan as Craig connected their hips forcefully, slipping his hands down and around to his back to help add more force. Craig pushed his face hard into Stan's, causing the other's head to fall back against the smooth concrete wall behind him. The friction burning against Craig was tantalizing; it was incredible, but it wasn't _enough_. He wanted more. Grinding the life out of Stan wasn't going to satisfy him thoroughly, though it was enough to hold him off.

Maybe Stan could read his thoughts.

Stan's hands were shifting slowly around Craig's body, moving back around to the front, where they sped up to quickly undo the button and zipper, acting with absolutely no hesitation. And then, _holy fucking __**shit,**_Craig couldn't breathe anymore. He groaned and rocked against Stan, making to tear his lips from Stan's but being held back by his teeth suddenly clamping down on his bottom lip. He squeezed his eyes shut and grasped desperately at the other's upper arms. Stan's hands just felt so fucking _amazing_ down his pants. They weren't actually doing anything yet, just fondling and squeezing.

Craig had never felt anything like that in his _life._

He attempted to speak, to tell Stan to fucking _move_ already, but the lack of freedom to his lip was making that hard to do. He did manage to get out one word, though.

"H-Hands," he hissed, thrusting up slightly into the warm touch of fingertips and palms. Stan seemed to understand, because Craig was suddenly struck with an overwhelming sensation, one that made him want to scream in ecstasy, because _fuck_, it felt so good. His breathing was harsh and the air around him suddenly seemed determined to avoid his mouth and nose altogether. But maybe he didn't need air, because air probably wasn't necessary in fucking _heaven._

Feeling rather useless at the moment moaning and attempting to breathe and unable to release himself from Stan's relentless hold on his lip, he pushed forward into the other and began to make out with him again, craving obsessively for the contact of Stan's lips on his. Stan relinquished his hold to kiss back feverishly. Craig could feel his lips becoming red and swollen, but that just added to the excitement he was experiencing. He was sloppy and couldn't seem to keep track of where Stan's lips were, but he was always guided back when he began to slip off and start licking hungrily at the edges of his mouth. He released noises into Stan's mouth, rewards, almost. All the while Stan continued to please Craig, stroking as best he could with his pants still on. Craig suddenly realized that he very much wanted them _off._ He wondered why Stan hadn't removed them yet, deciding that it was because it was fucking freezing out here and Stan didn't want Craig to catch a cold for fear of catching one himself from the intimacy. Well, come on, seriously, what was he gonna do, catch a cold through his _dick?_ Not very likely, considering the heat he was feeling down there at the moment.

He squirmed around on top of Stan, trying to get his hand closer, and at the same time trying to relieve himself of some of the pleasure before he spasmed or had a heart attack from the sheer bliss of it all. Gasping, he broke away from Stan's lips, unnecessarily wetting his own as he prepared himself to speak. He leaned back, staring into Stan's icy blue eyes clouded with passion.

"Still think you're not a homo, you fucking fag?" he panted, lips twitching up in a smirk as he ground down into Stan's hips with Stan's hands still inside his pants, creating more friction and feeling between the two and resulting in an almost painfully pleasured moan shoving out through Stan's lips. He locked gazes with Craig, lips also turning up playfully.

"I'm bi," he breathed, stroking faster, making Craig moan lowly in return.

"So I've only convinced you halfway," Craig mused, laughing breathlessly at the teasing exasperated toss of Stan's eyes. He rolled his hips forward once more, causing Stan's hands to press into him. He groaned and pushed down again, loving the burst of pleasure that resulted.

Suddenly Stan's hands were being pulled out of his pants, one lingering to grab a belt loop and pull down while the other was brought up to push at his shoulder in an effort to make him lay down on his back. Craig didn't like the idea of that. The ground was fucking _freezing._ He would _much_ rather they switch positions, so that he could bask in the warmth Stan's body would leave imprinted on the wall and ground. Wanting to convey this to Stan, he grabbed the forearm attached to the hand clutching at his shoulder and once again found Stan's piercing blue gaze.

"'S too cold," he murmured, trying vainly to calm his erratic, uncontrollable breathing somewhat. "Wall's warmer..."

Stan seemed to understand what he was incoherently trying to say as he nodded and pushed up from the wall to get up, but lost his balance and crashed forward into Craig, bringing them both catapulting to the ground, Stan on top of Craig, who still had his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped and pulled down slightly. Stan's face was so red that Craig could actually _see_ it in the dark, and he smirked up at him, trying to ignore the biting cold viciously attacking his back.

"Smooth," he cooed, nipping playfully at Stan's upper lip. Stan immediately lifted himself from Craig's body, as if Craig _minded_, pulling himself out from in between Craig's widely spread legs and climbing beside him. He helped Craig up, clearly under the impression that he needed the help. Craig coolly flipped him off and sat up, turning himself around and leaning against the wall now behind him. Practically all of the warmth that might have been there before had faded and been replaced by cold, which was totally defeating the purpose of that whole awkward clumsy bit. But oh well. Now Stan was flustered, and Craig liked it.

Stan was currently sitting in front of Craig, motionless, as if he didn't know what he was supposed to do. Well, if that was the case, Craig would gladly show him. He let his legs fall open, giving Stan full view of his exposed pulsating cock, watching his face all the while. He smirked lightly before letting a lustful look of longing take over his features.

"Nn, _Stan_," he moaned thickly, practically able to _see_ his face brighten with red. "Surely you're not just going to _leave_ me here to finish this all on my own?"

Speechless, Stan slowly shook his head, eyes wide, a small moan working its way up his esophagus but not quite making it past his lips, remaining lodged in his throat. He watched as Craig idly lowered his fingers to stroke himself once lightly, moaning a little exaggeratedly for Stan's benefit.

"Then why don't you come help me finish what was started?" he suggested to him huskily, closing his eyes and letting a tantalizing expression of bliss onto his face to lure the other in. It seemed to do the trick, as hands were suddenly gripping his waist, fingers pulling at his jeans in a frantic attempt to get them off. So much for staying warm.

Craig helped wriggle out of his jeans and underwear, hissing when his newly bare skin made contact with the icy ground. Fucking hell, it was like sitting on a fucking block of _frozen snow._ It was so cold it fucking _stung._ Craig sighed in annoyance and shifted, trying uselessly to make himself more comfortable. He was soon distracted from the painful cold, though, as one of Stan's hands returned to his erection, warmth consequently spreading through his body. Craig shifted his hips slightly forward, letting a long breath out through his nose. He leaned his head back against the wall of the gymnasium, focusing entirely on the amazing sensation washing through him with Stan's motions. He let his eyes slip closed, groaning softly and spreading his legs just a little bit wider, inviting Stan to explore further. He arched his back, his shirt lifting just a little to expose the skin of his abdomen. Suddenly he felt something tracing his parted lips lightly, almost hesitantly, and he opened his eyes. Stan stared meaningfully down at him, his index finger running along Craig's bottom lip. Craig smirked teasingly, flicking his tongue out to quickly touch Stan's fingertip.

"Gonna fuck me, Mr. Bi?"

"Doesn't make any difference," Stan breathed back. "I can fuck a guy and still be bi."

Craig chuckled. "Problem is, darling, you're not." He flicked his tongue out once more before pursing his lips shut in a thin line. Stan looked like he was about to argue so Craig decided to be polite and enlighten him.

"Oh, you're not going to need those," he explained, nodding towards Stan's fingers. "Just do what you're gonna do and skip the preparation."

Stan stared at him for a second as if he couldn't understand. Craig's smirk widened and he leaned forward to breathe into Stan's ear.

"Fuck me dry," he purred, voice smooth and enticing. Stan visibly shivered and Craig leaned back, satisfied. He watched Stan's dumbfounded expression, meeting it with a raised eyebrow, challenging him. Stan blinked and a playful smile tugged at his lips.

"Sure you can handle it?" he asked rather arrogantly, returning to his previous demeanor of popularity that Craig had hated so much before, but now that turned him on even more. Stan's strokes became more firm and challenging, threatening to mix and swirl Craig's thoughts to confuse him. He tried to talk around his heightened breathing, struggling to keep that smirk on his face.

"I'm _more_ than sure. Now fuck me before I get bored." Stan raised his eyebrow and gave a particularly hard stroke, making Craig grudgingly groan loudly as Stan's ragged breath found its way to his ear.

"Oh, I don't think you're going to get bored." The low promise embedded within Stan's husky voice made Craig shiver violently, his enlarged cock twitching in Stan's hand. Stan chuckled before releasing it altogether. Craig grunted at the sudden loss of warmth and pleasure and shifted uncomfortably, left deprived and wanting. "Patience," he heard from before him, and he groaned grudgingly in disapproval. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back again as he felt Stan pull his obtrusive clothing to his ankles and heard Stan's own pants follow suit. He hoped that Stan was as fucking cold as he was. Fingers hooked around his waist and he felt a vague sensation of air being breathed out across his face as the feeling of Stan's eyes on him became present. He again opened his eyes and tilted his head down to see him, and smirked at what he saw. Stan was ready to enter, staring up at Craig as if seeking confirmation.

"You sure you don't want preparation?" he asked with that raised eyebrow. Craig breathed out, almost a sigh. His lips curled.

"Scared I'll be too much for you without it?" And without any further hesitation, Stan thrust his hips forward, fingernails digging into Craig's hips, burying himself deep inside Craig.

It was pain. Deep, stabbing, uncomfortable pain that could only be felt by a virgin. A _stupid_ virgin who had asked to be fucked _dry_ the first time. It hurt, and it was fucking _delicious._

He heard moans, associating them with their owner: _him._ They were painful moans, and he felt like a whore, because they were induced by the incredible sensations he was getting, not the pain, because the burning, stretching pain felt _good. __**So**_ good.

He became aware of Stan also moaning senselessly, letting out words as he pushed in until he was all the way. "Craig, holy fucking _god_, you weren't kidding when you said you were a virgin. Nn, _fuck_, you feel so _good_, fucking _hell._" Craig grunted and twitched his hips a little.

"Then why aren't you fucking _moving?_" he panted. "Afraid of getting off?"

"_No,_" Stan answered indignantly, pulling out and slamming back in. Craig moaned and threw his head back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. More pain. More delicious, striking pain. Craig panted and thrust his hips forward into Stan's, encouraging him to just fucking _go._ Stan pulled back and thrust in again, beginning to build up speed and rhythm. He hit Craig as hard as he could, evidently trying to get the most sound out of Craig as possible. And it was working. Craig moaned and grunted and whined and made every noise that wasn't coherent words until Stan changed angle.

"_Fffuuuuuck,_" Craig groaned as Stan hit that spot inside him that made him want to scream and fucking glue Stan to that spot. He writhed underneath Stan, trying to get him closer to it, but Stan was already pulling away, getting ready to slam back in. Craig's breath disappeared, evaporated completely into thin air. _Seriously_ thin air. His lungs strained and his throat squeezed around loud noises that didn't seem to want to come out. His tongue and teeth clamped down on the noises and they stilled in his mouth, sounding muffled.

"Ngh, Stan, keep fucking going, I'm gonna fucking- nnh.." Craig gasped for air, trying to keep from losing consciousness, because he would never forgive himself if he fucked up and missed this. Just keep fucking breathing, Craig. Just keep- _holy shit._ Stan's hand once again found his cock and he practically screamed at the absolute pleasure that came crashing down on his head. His mind swam and his fingers curled and his jaw clenched and his hips jerked and then he felt heat in the pit of his stomach, spurting rapidly up to his very core. He locked his arms around Stan's still clothed body as he erupted, face contorting in uncontrolled bliss. He felt Stan follow immediately after, liquid heat spilling deep inside him, something delicious twitching in a spasm that rocked his whole body. It seemed to last forever, the bliss, the pleasure, the ecstasy, and yet it wasn't long enough.

When it was over they collapsed, a tangled mass of arms and legs and other unnamed appendages piled up in a sweaty, haphazard heap gasping for air. Craig lay beside Stan on the icy cold pavement, and this time Craig didn't even notice the temperature of the ground. He stared into Stan's tired glassy blue eyes and smiled, a genuine smile with no hint of superiority or arrogance or ridicule whatsoever, and Stan returned it in his fatigue.

It felt perfect.

Absolutely, without question. Craig swore he felt something right then, something beyond just meaningless hormones and sex. Something shared between both of them. Like an unbreakable connection, so strong and binding that neither could escape it. A bond that linked them wholly, mind, body, heart and soul. It was fucking gay, but it was amazing. It was new to Craig. He liked it. And he realized that maybe he didn't hate Stan fucking Marsh as much anymore.

He leaned forward to connect their lips once more, but this time there was no lust or want involved. Craig kissed with passion, with feeling; he kissed with his heart, not his hormones. With his feelings, not his emotions. With his mind, not his body. He kissed Stan with more feeling than he had ever shown anyone in his whole entire life.

When he pulled away, that sincere, honest smile was still on his lips.

"Call me tomorrow?" he breathed, not imagining for a second that Stan could refuse. Stan also maintained his tired smile as he answered.

"Yeah."

Neither wanted to move, though they both knew they had to. Stan was the first to pull away, and Craig quickly unhooked his arms from around his body. It was when the contact was broken that he realized just how cold it really was, now that he was deprived of the heat sheltering him earlier. He shivered violently and skillfully pulled his clothing back on, glancing over at Stan. What he saw made him snicker- the cum had to go _somewhere._ Stan rolled his eyes and took off his jacket, slinging off his shirt carelessly after. Craig froze, vaguely aware of Stan rubbing the cum off his jacket with his shirt but definitely not paying attention to _that._ He moaned softly at the sight of Stan's bare chest and stomach and at how he hadn't yet zipped or buttoned back up yet. It was at least a thousand times better than anything he had imagined (though when he had imagined it had been grudgingly because he didn't like having weaknesses like that) and he suddenly felt frustrated that it was so cold, because then maybe he would have been able to see this little bit of paradise while they were fucking. Goddammit.

Stan glanced over and saw Craig staring. Smirking, he raised an eyebrow and waved a hand in front of his chest to get Craig's attention. Craig blinked and looked up at Stan's eyes, face flushing when he realized what he'd been so blatantly doing.

"I'm sorry, is my hot body distracting you?" Stan arched his eyebrow in amusement. Craig's ears went hot and he scowled.

"Distracting me from what?" he scoffed, hoping Stan didn't notice his avoidance of the question. Stan laughed and fished something out of his jeans pocket, tossing it to Craig. Craig almost dropped it, and was very glad he didn't when he realized it was Stan's phone. But at the same time he wondered why he cared.

"Put your number in," Stan said lightly while he continued to rub the cum off his jacket, as if not caring what the fuck Craig did with his phone. Craig felt privileged.

Of course Stan didn't already have his number. Just a short while ago Craig hated him. Hated him not only because of what had happened in the past, but because he had been something Craig subconsciously wanted but couldn't have. But now he had him.

He started to punch in his cell phone number before remembering that he had been grounded for ridiculous reasons by his father and had had his phone taken away "until it became necessary for him to get it back." So he was now confined to the stupid shitty house phone for any calls he would need to make before he got his phone back from his fucking dad.

He erased the numbers he had typed in already and instead put in his house phone, hoping to god his father didn't pick up and hear a boy asking for Craig. Just the thought of it stressed him out. He shook his head in frustration and handed the phone back to Stan, who was pulling his jacket, which was somewhat cleaned of the white substance, over his bare shoulders and zipping it back up, balling up his ruined shirt and stuffing it in the front pocket. As Stan took his phone, grinning, Craig swallowed nervously, having no idea of the reason for his nervousness, getting a little pissed as a result.

"Uh," he started, face going red with no explanation. Why was he getting so flustered around Stan all of a sudden? Was it because he'd just been fucked by him? Well that was no reason. That would be stupid. "T-that's my house phone." When Stan gave him a strange look he reluctantly explained. "My stupid dad took my phone away until he wants to give it back, so." He felt _really_ stupid. Stan couldn't call his cell phone because he had gotten himself grounded. That made him sound _so_ cool. Fuck you, dad. Craig resisted the urge to flip off his dad, who was nowhere near where he was. Stupid asshole.

Stan was grinning maddeningly and Craig scowled at him, ears hot. "It wasn't my fault, douche bag," he muttered, fixing his eyes on the ground. Stan just laughed, and Craig sighed in annoyance. He supposed the time-space continuum had been shattered, with tonight's events. He had fucked with the guy he had so fervently hated for what- thirteen, fourteen years?- and his usually effortlessly controlled emotions were suddenly _un_controllable. He felt flustered around Stan and couldn't stop thinking random, gay things. He looked at Stan with disapproval, as if silently blaming him for all this. Stan just stared back at him with those deep crystal blues. And Craig leaned in, letting his eyes slip shut, hands finding purchase on Stan's shoulder and upper arm, and pressed their lips together one last time, kissing him softly. Stan kissed back gently, and there were the gay thoughts again. But Craig didn't care. He was living his dream, and he was going to like it.

In the end, it hadn't mattered whether he was inside the gym or out; he had lost his virginity anyway.

-

_-Lol, Perry the Platypus. Anyone get that? -is shot- Sorry. I watch really dumb shows. Like, **really** dumb shows. lolol. So anyone like it? I promise the whole thing isn't going to be stupid porn. Only about seventy-five percent lol. No really, I don't think there's going to be **that** much. It's mostly an angst story. Derived from my life. Except in my life I don't have sex every other second lol. K so maybe read chapter two, maybe maybe review...?-_


	2. Unacceptable

Stan never called.

Somehow Craig knew he wouldn't, but that didn't explain why it hurt so much.

It had been a one night stand, he should have _known_ it would be from the start. No way was _Stan Marsh _actually going to have some sort of a connection with _Craig Tucker._ That was just stupid. But even though these thoughts passed through his mind, and he knew they were true, as he stared out his bedroom window at the fading light outside to a dull purple, Craig felt his chest aching painfully. His fingers pulsed with hurt, clenched around the house phone tightly as if to ensure that it didn't escape. He had waited all day, holding onto that phone, disallowing _anyone_ else to use it, to make sure he didn't miss his call. Every time a call would come in he would check the caller I.D. with his heart in his throat, only to have it sink when none of the letters spelled out _Stan Marsh _or anything of the sort.

He found himself coming up with interceding excuses, like maybe Stan didn't have his number. Yeah, that must be it. Stan _couldn't_ call him because he- oh, wait. No, Craig _gave _him his number last night. Stan had it. Then...

Oh, maybe Craig gave him the wrong one; it would have been easy to have forgotten that his had been taken away after all the excitement and distracting thoughts, but no. No, he distinctly remembered making sure he gave him the house phone, explaining to him that he had been grounded from his.

Well maybe Stan lost his number. It would be easy to- no. He himself had punched in the numbers for Stan. There was no way Stan could have lost it, unless he erased it...

No. No, if he erased it, it was an accident. Why would he erase it? Just because he and Craig never actually talked, or communicated, or even _looked_ at each other besides last night? No, that was just _ridiculous._

_**Fuck.**_

His throat tightened, straining, and something obtrusive formed right in the middle of it. Craig tried to swallow it down, but it just bobbed right back up, bringing with it a sound that Craig almost didn't recognize had come from himself.

A sob. A quiet one, but a sob nonetheless.

Now Craig recognized tears stinging behind his eyes, a single one managing to roll over the barrier of his eyelashes and down the side of his face.

Fuck. _Fuuuuuuck._

Why the hell was he letting _Stan fucking Marsh_ make him cry like this? Why was it getting to him? So he hadn't called him after having sex with him, something he should have expected. Big deal. Let life move on.

But life just seemed to want to stop a little while for Craig.

He rolled over on his side as he felt more of the infuriating tears come, not wanting any of the disobedient things rolling their way into his ears. _Goddammit, Marsh. I fucking _hate_ you. Why do you have to fuck around with that?_

He lay there, crying in frustration and hurt, holding the phone out in front of his face, watching for it through his tears to light up orange with an incoming call.

Why did he let Stan _do_ this to him? Why did he think, for even one second, a millisecond even, that Stan would waste his time with Craig? He himself had planted a seed of false hope within his being, and let himself latch onto it, watching it grow until it realized there was no sunlight here and died.

So really, it was _his _fault that he was crying. Besides, who had been the one to induce the sex in the first place?

_Fuck, Craig. You've done it. And ultimately, you're the loser in the situation. You've done this to yourself. So stop pitying yourself and put the fucking phone away._ But Craig couldn't get himself to move, let alone put the phone away. He just lay there, crying on his side, legs curling in to shield himself from the world. And even as his mind told him that it was _his _fault he was hurting, not Stan's, the ignorant, foolish part of his brain continued to come up with valid reasons as to why Stan wasn't calling; he was too busy. He had football practice all day and was exhausted. He forgot. But how could he forget after last night?

It was hopeless. Stan didn't feel anything for Craig. Last night was nothing to him. He hadn't felt the bond Craig had after the ecstasy when they had still been wrapped up in each other's arms. But even as he realized all this, confirmed it with reality, he continued to stare at the phone in his hand, waiting in vain for the call he knew would never come through.

-

Craig hadn't gone to church for _years._ Six years, to be exact. His family had stopped going, and he had always _hated_ church. He didn't really think there was a god at all, which completely defeated the purpose of going altogether.

So why he had decided to go today was beyond him. It had made sense when he had woken up, still half asleep with fading dreams or nightmares, he couldn't really distinguish the difference anymore. He had forgotten the reason and whether it was a good one by the time he was fully awake, already dressing in nice clothes and preparing to go. He thought it had something to do with not wanting to sit around staring at the phone all day again like a fucking idiot. To occupy himself. He liked that idea, so here he was, following through with it.

He was almost at the church building, only a block and a corner away. He was trying not to think about Stan or yesterday at _all_, letting his mind wander over exactly everything else. He thought about the bluebirds in the sky, or the trees by the sidewalk or _right in the fucking __**middle**__ of it_, or a boy with raven black hair, or the cars rolling leisurely past, or crystal blue eyes staring piercingly through his _skull_, or the burning bright sun, or lips molding his, or his fucking annoying shiny black shoes, or hands exploring his body, or delicious things thrusting into him, or heated moans ghosting their way up to his ears, or-

Church. He was going to church. He was going to worship his nonexistent god, he was going to pray, he was going to sings hymns, he was going to read scripture, he was _not_ going to wrap his arms carelessly around another boy he thought he could feel something for, he was not going to imagine some sort of gay bond between them, he was certainly not going to give him his phone number or induce a false promise or let himself trust blindly or let himself feel even momentarily happy or.... or.......

He was not going to cry.

He turned the corner and there was the church building, standing proudly before him in a magnificently poor illusion of glory, for it was only glorious if one believed the glory was there. Walking up to the tall, imposing building with its stained glass windows, he turned his gaze down to the grimy sidewalk beneath his feet, refusing to give the sacred building the respect it thought it oh so rightfully deserved. He went up to the door, pushing it open and stepping smoothly inside with the rest of the crowd. And as he lifted his gaze to look on the people gathered inside, he realized something vitally important he had somehow forgotten. Stan went to the same fucking church.

How the _fuck_ did he forget that?

It was too late to turn back now, so he took a seat all the way in the back corner, _away_ from everyone else. Skimming over the heads and faces of the various people in the room, he quickly found that raven black hair that distinguished Stan from everyone else. He was surprised Stan actually still went to church, considering his apparent lack of any morality, but he figured with a conscience and mother like his, he was bound to be here. Well good for him- so much for distracting himself.

Stan actually wasn't too far ahead of Craig- only about five rows. It was strange; Craig thought that upon seeing the other he would feel a wide range of emotions, namely pain and betrayal and hurt longing, but when his eyes fell upon the other boy he felt nothing inside. Stoicism. Emotionlessness. He smiled darkly. Apparently he had used up all his feelings yesterday.

He kept his gaze carefully locked on the back of Stan's head, disregarding anything the priest was saying. As if sensing his gaze stabbing at his skull, Stan shifted and brought a hand back to scratch at the spot. Craig kept his eyes there, keeping perfectly still, giving the appearance that he was carved out of stone, perfectly and smoothly shaped. He wasn't even thinking, really, just staring at the blackness before his eyes. His surroundings seemed to melt away and it was only him and Stan and the distance between them. Time also seemed to melt, slowing and crawling sluggishly forward. Finally, as if in slow motion, Stan's head turned back, rotating his body so his shoulders shifted around. His eyes twitched around, skipping over everything that was nothing until their trajectories finally crossed Craig's stone-like features and stopped there. Then everything froze.

Craig stared into Stan's eyes without emotion, watching as Stan's face remained blank while he registered the image he was picking up. The color slowly faded from his face and was replaced by a deathly, pale white. His eyes conveyed shock, confusion, and perhaps almost dread as they widened. His lips parted just barely to suck in air that wasn't there in the form of a gasp, and despite the distance separating them Craig could hear the ragged sound his lungs made as they strained to fill themselves after being robbed of their oxygen. He himself had no visible reaction, staring down the boy with no public opinion. He shielded the emotion from his eyes, hiding it behind a blue-gray wall of absence. He had no body language, sitting absolutely still in his seat, just staring impassively back at Stan, almost as if mocking his reaction. He heard the heartbeat racing through Stan's veins, saw the blood rushing frantically through his vessels, felt the shock of brain waves flashing up and down his spine, _smelled_ the thought rising from his brain to be swallowed up by his mind to be analyzed, taken apart, figured out, and distributed to nerve systems. It was still slow motion, barely above absolute zero. And Craig saw, felt, heard, smelled, tasted, and _breathed_ a single point of light slowly rising above Stan's essence. It hovered above his head for the longest time that only lasted a millisecond, and then dropped, barely moving yet still falling, until it touched the top of his mind. And that triggered an explosion, clicking everything back into place, reattaching time to space and everything in between and sending out a brilliant wave moving at the speed of light and the counter of that, a velocity Craig couldn't even begin to _begin_ to comprehend, both being the fastest possible and the slowest possible, both being the exact same thing, and both reaching Craig and impacting him at the same time. Light brighter than pure white exploded behind the backs of Craig's eyelids as he took a millisecond to blink and when he reopened his eyes, time had resumed with final normality once more.

The priest at the front of the humid room droned on about church tax pay, his voice a mere buzzing to Craig's damaged but repairing ears. He blinked a few times to replenish the accuracy of his sense of seeing and everything cleared up, rising above the previous blurry image. People fanned themselves in an attempt to escape the uncomfortable hot temperature and older people dozed off deciding it would be easier to escape to unconsciousness. Senses finally restored, Craig's eyes focused on the spot he had been staring at for both forever and a mere second.

Stan had turned back around, apparently staring intently at the priest, as if he were worried about tithing money. Craig knew otherwise. Though he could no longer see into Stan's very being, he knew his every thought just by looking at him. And yet he knew nothing. He let another dark smile grace his lips.

He had shoved Stan completely off balance with his mere appearance. It was power. It was revenge. And Craig liked it.

-

"Craig!"

Church was over. People were spilling out of the grand chapel doors like a plague, eager to get out into the cool, fresh air. Craig was among these people, trying to get away from that room _as fast as possible._ Still, infuriatingly, he had been spotted. He attempted to make like he hadn't heard, but his name again, and then he was being pulled by his left upper arm away impossibly from the thick crowd, and he suddenly found himself around the side of the white building, out of sight from the people. And with his heart sinking dreadfully with frustration, Craig's eyes flickered up to meet the crystal blue gaze of Stan's.

"What do you want?" he snarled, a mix between sounding hostile and impassive. Stan's expression was desperation and guilt and regret, with a bottom lip clasped between two rows of perfect white teeth.

"Craig, I'm sorry." It was said frantically, rushed and sincere, and Craig _really_ didn't like the way Stan said his name. As if he _knew_ Craig had spent all day yesterday waiting foolishly for a stupid nonexistent phone call. As if he _knew_ Craig had so pitifully _cried_ himself to sleep. He felt frustration and anger well up inside him, biting at the ends of his fingers and the back of his throat.

"Sorry for what?" he said cooly, not letting anything show, carefully monitoring his eyes. He liked the way Stan faltered at that.

"I- should have called you yesterday." Stan's teeth tugged once again at his bottom lip, and Craig became even more frustrated; he didn't like how Stan hadn't even tried to present an excuse for himself, as if he were actually sorry for blowing Craig off. Not that Craig cared for his stupid fucking apology. It didn't matter now. Stan had come too late. The doors to Craig's emotions were now closed, shut up and locked from him forever. Pity.

"What are you talking about, Marsh? Why the hell would you call me?" Craig forced indignant incomprehension into his voice. He tried not to let any of the hurt or recognition show. Stan looked delightfully confused.

"Because we-" He cuts off and Craig struggles to keep the amusement from showing. Nice save. What were you gonna say, "Because we fucked?"

"Because we what?" Craig asked lightly, giving off an air of mild curiosity. As if his memory had been wiped, as if his wishes had come true and Friday night had never happened. He tilted his head to the right and back just slightly, challengingly. "What did we do, Stan?"

"I-" Stan blinked and something painful brooded behind those bright, penetrating blues. "Craig, stop it."

"Stop what?" Oh, Craig did so love this game of false ignorance. It was a lie. He was lying right back to Stan, through his teeth, right before the very foundation of the truth. It was fun, addicting, _delicious._ He could just devour Stan's pain, his frustration, his confusion. And he would leave the remains behind, just as Stan had done to him. It was simple consequence. _This is what you get._

"Craig." Stan's voice trembled so barely noticeably. "I'm sorry. Just stop, please." Please? Was that what Stan thought would convince him, bring back his memory?

Was it going to work?

Craig wished the answer was no.

"Just answer me this, Stan _Marsh_," he sneered, lip curling on his last name mockingly. "Tell me _why_, and maybe I'll acknowledge you."

Stan stood still, unmoving, mouth shut, no words forming on those thin, wicked lips contorted by lies. Craig grinned with superior ridicule and leaned closer.

"Just give me a reason, just one good reason, _why_." He breathed it, inhaled it, circulated it, and started all over. Did Stan have the answer? Did he even understand what Craig was asking? He was still standing there, unmoved by Craig's swirling breath, eyes unfocused, his breathing shaky. He took a deep one, his chest rising and falling slowly, and then looked at Craig. His eyes saw right through Craig, right through his covered up eyes, right through the blue-gray veil shredded and torn and riddled with holes, and Craig felt as if Stan _saw _him. He saw everything he had felt yesterday, last night, this morning, _right now_. And it shook Craig, drilled into him, robbed him of his breath.

And his game was over. That was the answer. Nothing. There was no _why,_ only _how._ There was no _why,_ only _what._ It was who, what, when, where, but no _why._ What happened had happened. There was no reason. No excuse. Stan was a sinner, a liar in Craig's eyes. And he knew it.

Stan stood before Craig, very still, eyes locked with Craig's, those icy blues, and Craig stood just as still. And then, it was broken, as Stan moved, hands trailing up his arms to his shoulders, fingers curling; he pushed Craig up to the wall behind him, and Craig did nothing, staring back at Stan without emotion. Stan kept their gazes locked for just a split second longer before letting his eyelids flicker shut and closing the distance separating them. And when Craig felt Stan's lips touch his, he did something forbidden and unforgivable.

He kissed back.


End file.
